Oh My God. More Aleister Crowley.

Hm.

The Cry of the 24th Aethyr, Which is Called NIA1

An angel comes forward into the stone like a warrior clad in chain- armour. Upon his head are plumes of gray**2**, spread out like the fan of a peacock**3**. About his feet a great army of scorpions and dogs, lions, elephants, and many other wild beasts. He stretches forth his arms to heaven and cries; In the crackling of the lightning, in the rolling of the thunder, in the clashing of the swords and the hurling of the arrows**4**: be thy name exalted!

Streams of fire come out of the heavens, a pale brilliant blue**5**, like plumes. And they gather themselves and settle upon his lips. His lips are redder than roses, and the blue plumes gather themselves into a blue rose**6**, and from beneath the petals of the rose come brightly coloured humming-birds**7**, and dew falls from the rose- honey-coloured dew**8**. I stand in the shower of it.

And a voice proceeds from the rose: Come away! Our chariot is drawn by doves**9**. Of mother-of-pearl and ivory is our chariot**10** and the reins thereof are the heart-strings of men. Every moment that we fly shall cover an aeon. And every place on which we rest shall be a young universe rejoicing in its strength; the meadows thereof shall be covered with flowers. There shall we rest but a night, and in the morning we shall flee away, comforted.

Now, to myself, I have imagined the chariot of which the voice spake, and I looked to see who was with me in the chariot. It was an Angel of golden hair and golden skin, whose eyes were bluer than the sea, whose mouth was redder than the fire, whose breath was ambrosial air. Finer than a spider's web were her robes. And they were of the seven colours**11**.

All this I saw; and then the hidden voice went on low and sweet: Come away! The price of the journey is little, though its name be death. Thou shalt die to all that thou fearest and hopest and hatest and lovest and thinkest and art. Yea! thou shalt die, even as thou must die. For all that thou hast, thou hast not; all that thou art, thou art not**12**!

NENNI OFEKUFA ANANAEL LAIADA I MAELPEREJI NONUKA AFAFA ADAREPEHETA PEREGI ALADI NIISA NIISA LAPE OL ZODIR IDOIAN**13**.

And I said: ODO KIKALE QAA. Why art thou hidden from me, whom I hear?

And the voice answered and said unto me: Hearing is of the spirit alone**14**. Thou art a partaker of the five-fold mystery**15**. Thou must roll up the ten divine ones like a scroll, and fashion therefrom a star**16**. Yet must thou blot out the star in the heart of Hadit**17**.

For the blood of my heart is like a warm bath of myrrh and ambergris; bathe thyself therein. The blood of my heart is all gathered upon my lips if I kiss thee, burns in my fingertips if I caress thee, burns in my womb when thou art caught up into my bed. Mighty are the stars; mighty is the sun; mighty is the moon; mighty is the voice of the ever-living one, and the echoes of his whisper are the thunders of the dissolution of the worlds. But my silence is mightier than they. Close up the worlds like unto a weary house; close up the book of the recorder, and let the veil swallow up the shrine, for I am arisen, O my fair one, and there is no more need of all these things.

If once I put thee apart from me, it was the joy of play. Is not the ebb and flowing of the tide a music of the sea? Come, let us mount unto Nuit our mother and be lost! Let being be emptied in the infinite abyss! For by me only shalt thou mount; thou hast none other wings than mine**18**.

All this while the Rose has been shooting out blue flames, coruscating like snakes through the whole Aire. And the snakes have taken shapes of sentences. One of them is: Sub umbra alarum tuarum Adonai quies et felicitas**19**. And another: Summum bonum, vera sapientia, magnanima vita, sub noctis nocte sunt**20**. And another is: Vera medicina est vinum mortis**21**. And another is: Libertas evangelii per jugum legis ob gloriam dei intactam ad vacuum nequaquam tendit**22**. And another is: Sub aqu lex terrarum**23**. And another is: Mens edax rerum, cor umbra rerum; intelligentia via summa**24**. And another is: Summa via lucis: per Hephaestum undas regas**25**. And another is: Vir introit tumulum regis, invenit oleum lucis**26**.

And all round the whole of these things are the letters TARO; but the light is so dreadful that I cannot read the words. I am going to try again. All these serpents are collected together very thickly at the edges of the wheel, because there are an innumerable number of sentences. One is: tres annos regimen oraculi**27**. And another is: terribilis ardet rex ןוילע**28**. And another is: Ter amb (amp?) (can't see it) Rosam oleo (?)**29**. And another is: Tribus annulis regna olisbon**30**. And the marvel is that with those four letters you can get a complete set of rules for doing everything, both for white magic and black.

And now I see the heart of the rose again. I see the face of him that is the heart of the rose, and in the glory of that face I am ended. My eyes are fixed upon his eyes; my being is sucked up through my eyes into those eyes. And I see through those eyes, and lo! the universe, like whirling sparks of gold, blown like a tempest. I seem to swell out again into him. My consciousness fills the whole Aethyr. I hear the cry NIA, ringing again and again from within me. It sounds like infinite music, and behind the sound is the meaning of the Aethyr. Again there are no words.

All this time the whirling sparks of gold go on, and they are like blue sky, with a lot of rather thin white clouds in it, outside. And now I see mountains round, far blue mountains, purple mountains. And in the midst is a little green dell of moss, which is all sparkling with dew that drips from the rose. And I am lying on that moss with my face upwards, drinking, drinking, drinking, drinking, drinking of the dew.

I cannot describe to you the joy and the exhaustion of everything that was, and the energy of everything that is, for it is only a corpse that is lying on the moss. I am the soul of the Aethyr**31**.

Now it reverberates like the swords of archangels, clashing upon the armour of the damned; and there seem to be the blacksmiths of heaven beating the steel of the worlds upon the anvils of hell, to make a roof to the Aethyr**32**.

For if the great work were accomplished and all the Aethyrs were caught up into one, then would the vision fail; then would the voice be still.

Now all is gone from the stone.

Ain el Hajel. November 26, 1909. 2-3:25 p.m.